


Emergency Feeding

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Series: Undead Chosen One [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Attachment does not equal love in this fic, Blood Drinking, Brief Mention of Past Suicidal Thoughts, Gen, Jedi Culture Respected, Undead Anakin, Vampire Anakin, Vampire Feeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 18:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7945060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where Anakin Skywalker was turned by a vampire, in which his only romantic interest is Padmé, at a time when he is both Ahsoka's Master and Obi-Wan's best friend, he and his loved ones try to figure out the new normal of an Undead Chosen One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency Feeding

**Author's Note:**

> I want to mess with traditional views of vampires just a little bit. Don't expect all the legends you're familiar with to necessarily be true in this AU.

 

 

Anakin Skywalker was turned several months ago. The first few were spent in seclusion with Obi-Wan, trying to figure out his present and future. Now, with the full blessing of the Jedi Council, they have returned to the war effort and are pursuing a side-mission: track down the assassin who murdered the President of a neutral planet, and thereby win that system’s loyalty to the Republic. The GAR had been needing a staging area for relief supplies in this quadrant; all they have to do is find a local extremist. It should be no surprise that things haven’t gone according to plan.

 

 

 

“Anakin, it’s been too long since you ate last. If we’re going to get out of here, you need to feed.”

Anakin, hands shaking, stumbling more than walking, still had the energy to scowl. “We’ve been over this. I’m not letting you—”

“There aren’t any professionals _here_ , Anakin, let alone _anyone_ else. I’m not willing to destroy that mind of yours when I could protect it.”

“It’s protecting _you_ that’s the problem here,” Anakin growled. “If I get started, I don’t know that I could stop. Your blood calls to me, Obi-Wan. Louder than others’. You read the warnings. Emotional bonds turn blood’s effect to almost a drug. That it’s more

dangerous to be a living someone a vampire calls family than a random stranger on the street.”

“Anakin. I trust you. And I need you to trust me.”

They’d been trying to work their way out of the massive labyrinth for days now.

Bushes, taller than they could Force-jump, and far too flimsy to climb, formed a maze of ridiculous size. The assassin they’d been hunting had managed to strand them here.

No comlinks, no tech of any kind, their prey long since flown, no way to call for a ship and no _one_ to notice they were missing for a good long while yet, they were left to fight their way out as best they could.

It was embarrassing, to say the least.

To say the worst, Obi-Wan’s food supply was limited, Anakin’s nonexistent, and they really had no idea where they were headed.

They cut through bushes, tried to use Anakin’s heightened hearing, smell, and sight. For the rest, pretty much just guessed and tried to make a straight line by lining up the doors they cut in the shrubbery.

Even if they succeeded in escaping, it was going to take them a long time.

This maze was vast.

“Anakin, the sun will be up soon. That forms a safety of sorts.”

It’s the only reason Anakin didn’t shove Obi-Wan’s wrist away from him when his Master presented its underside to his nose.

And the scent of blood, right there, so close—

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan held very still as Anakin nuzzled his wrist.

He could sense his former Padawan’s struggle.

He watched Anakin’s pupils expand, expand, his nostrils flare—

And then his eyes wandered, caught by the faintest of movements.

The fluttering pulse in Obi-Wan’s throat.

Obi-Wan had only a millisecond warning before Anakin lunged in against him, sinking teeth into his neck. Obi-Wan’s jaws snapped wide, the cry the pain wrenched from him was sharp and quickly mastered.

Anakin’s fangs in his throat felt like twin pencils deep in his flesh.

Stab wounds with the knives left inside.

Arrows continuously being wiggled, shifted, sliding—

Obi-Wan grit his teeth.

He’d expected the pain to be over swiftly.

After all, common opinion was that bleeding to death was a rather decent way to go.

_They haven’t tried it._

Pulsing pressure against his throat, dragging the blood from his veins, Anakin’s tongue, tearing at the wounds, preventing them from clotting.

Obi-Wan’s body shook.

He’d experienced pain that could block out the sun, agony that destroyed his heart’s rhythm into something unrecognizable, suffered unimaginable torment at the hands of various enemies.

The pain of this was so insignificant compared to that. Awful, yes, because wounds inflicted in the heat of battle were so much easier to take than nails stabbed into flesh in a time of peace, but he wasn’t going to lose his mind because of it.

It wasn’t the pain that brought Obi-Wan to his knees. That had drawn the cry from his lungs. That he grit his teeth against now.

Sensation had the ability to cause far more suffering than pain.

And he should know.

He _knew_ pain.

This was... this was something infinitely worse. Pain would be _welcome_ over this.

He felt the blood pounding through his vessels, picking up speed as it neared Anakin’s maw. Rushing, rushing—

Felt it draining.

It was all he could do to not struggle. To not try to hurt his former Padawan.

He’d taken much already for the sake of his apprentice.

He could endure this.

Anakin had followed him to the ground, apparently not noticing Obi-Wan’s quivering anguish.

Five thin fingers clamped around his shoulder, and the other set pushed his head to his opposite shoulder.

It triggered every defensive mechanism that existed in the older Jedi, who’d grown up a small, skinny, scrappy male. Obi-Wan forced himself to dismiss the klaxons, to resist the urge to lash out. To get _away_.

He’d heard rumors of people losing themselves to the seductive bite of a vampire.

He suspected that had more to do with personal fetish than a general rule applying to the galaxy as a whole.

He certainly found _no_ pleasure in this.

He just felt like prey cornered by a predator he was struggling to remember he loved and trusted.

Maybe that intrigued some people.

He’d been too beaten, too abused in the past for that to be the case.

Anakin pressed deeper into Obi-Wan’s neck. The still living Jedi tried to hold firm against it, but the angles were wrong and he had full mobility of only one arm. The other was partially restricted by pale, strong fingers.

Sudden spots danced into Obi-Wan’s vision, and his sense of balance took a vacation without notice.

Holding very still to try to overcome the nausea, he dimly realized he lay on his back, legs tucked underneath his thighs.

His boots dug painfully into his legs, but that was the least of his troubles.

One of Anakin’s hands pinned his head to the ground.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan rasped. He could barely hear himself.

Maybe he’d waited a second too long. That moment that had stretched oddly, going from cruelty to weakness. Yes. Probably should have stopped this _before_ that moment.

“ _Anakin_.” He pushed his hands against his Padawan’s chest and shoulders. “Enough. Stop. _Stop_. Let me up.”

He tried to put a bit of the Force into his gesture, into his words, but he couldn’t seem to tap into it. For a moment he forgot

his training and struggled physically, but Anakin simply tightened his grip.

_Think, Kenobi._

He drew in a shaky breath, stilled; closed his eyes, and tried to touch the boy’s mind with his own, convey his status.

It just wouldn’t—

He couldn’t—

Apparently, with this level of blood loss...

A Jedi couldn’t...

Function very...

Well....

But he was too drained to feel much more than a detached observation.

And then he didn’t feel even that.

 

* * *

 

Anakin came to himself slowly.

He felt warm. So warm and safe.

He burrowed just a little, not wanting to get out of bed just yet, drawing in a deep breath.

Breakfast. What a beautiful scent. Intoxicating, really.

_That_ just might coax him out of bed.

Whatever in blazes was Obi-Wan cooking?

And why did the smell seem tied to Obi-Wan’s very self in his mind?

Anakin forced one eye open. Grass. Shrubs.

On a mission, then. Even more reason to refuse to wake up.

And then he became aware of the body.

Snuggled up against it, his arm thrown over its chest, his face in the crook between neck and shoulder.

Whoever could _that_ be?

And the _smell—_

Very much awake, Anakin sat up, pulling away from the corpse.

Found himself staring down into Obi-Wan’s porcelain face and glazed eyes.

Saw how his body had collapsed and been forced back on itself.

Saw blood on the neck. On the grass.

Felt scratches on his own chest, his shoulder—

Saw the grass gouged. Saw dirt buried beneath Obi-Wan’s fingernails.

Could smell fear, desperation--

Decay—

Couldn’t hear Obi-Wan’s heartbeat.

Couldn’t—

Terror, horror—

_“No!_ ”

He hadn’t screamed like this since he’d been a child. He pawed at the unripped side of Obi-Wan’s neck, desperate for a pulse, but he was trembling too much to manage.

“No, PLEASE—”

He gathered up the body and cradled it to his chest, horrified by how chilled it felt.

And how light.

So emaciated in his arms.

“Come back, Obi-Wan,” he begged. “Master, _please_.”

He’d killed him.

He’d _murdered_ his Master.

His best friend. His _father_. His—

A muscle spasmed.

Not his own.

Speed and care equally balanced, Anakin eased the body back to the ground, careful to straighten the bent legs.

He saw a slight quiver of the eyelids.

The tiniest movement in the chest.

Sobbing with relief, with fear since they weren’t out of the woods yet, Anakin stroked his Master’s face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Never again,” he vowed. “Wake up. _Please_ wake up—”

Hidden by the massive shrubbery, Anakin didn’t notice dawn’s approach.

One moment he was wishing his blood had healing properties like one of the myths he'd read had falsely claimed, and the next he collapsed, dead, beside his Master’s body, mind in a deeper hibernation than a living human’s could ever reach.

Even his subconscious shut down.

Helpless, useless, his body waited the approach of nightfall.

 

* * *

 

Panic. Sharp, insistent. Self-hatred.

The emotions weren’t his own...

The signals came in from... somewhere...

_Anakin._

Obi-Wan had been waiting. Drifting, in the golden waves of the Force, just waiting to be scattered across its tides.

It was peaceful there. Safe.

Warm...

Cold splashed in against his soul as something from without disturbed his calm expectation. Such urgency, such _pain_ —

If it was anyone else, he would have to turn away.

Sorry, so sorry, but he had an appointment elsewhere—

But this was his boy. The child Qui-Gon had entrusted to him. His closest friend.

_He needs you. He needs you Kenobi. You can’t go yet. Not yet._

Regret hummed through him.

So many had gone before. Qui-Gon. Satine—

Danger whispered through the Force. Not for himself, but for Anakin.

He gazed out across the scattered essences of his past, and denied his yearning to join them. _Not yet._

He had a responsibility.

Selflessness dragged Obi-Wan back from the seductive lure of the cosmic Force.

Brought him back to the point where he realized he had a punishing headache, a dizzy sluggishness, and couldn’t think very well.

_Not enough oxygen to the brain_ , he assessed. Blood too thin to carry it efficiently.

Obi-Wan drew in a breath through lungs that ached.

_I am_ not _as young as I once was._

Blue-gray eyes cracked open, squinting at the brightening sky above him.

A sudden jolt of knowledge sat him up in a panic. _Sun. Soon._

Anakin lay beside him.

Obi-Wan sensed only death in the Force.

He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it. The twin sensations of Anakin’s very real _presence_ , as well as _death_.

Obi-Wan had held dead bodies before.

Always, _always_ , death was accompanied by... emptiness. The feeling that the loved one was _gone._

_Not always. Not anymore._

Death had claimed so many of the people closest to his heart.

He was glad that in this one case, it hadn't taken Anakin  _away._

Obi-Wan took his lightsaber to the closest shrub, thankful for the seventh time that they were so ridiculously thick, and that the foliage was so dense.

He couldn’t afford to pass out...

Couldn't....

Somehow he carved a place for them, somehow dragged Anakin into it, somehow draped his cloak over Anakin, covering him from head to toe for added protection.

And then he lay down beside his former Apprentice, and watched as the first rays of sunlight kissed the grass outside their hiding place.

He drank as much water from their meager store as he could justify, knowing his body was dangerously dehydrated.

He knew he should avoid sweating at all costs, he couldn’t afford to lose more liquid, but—

The temptation was too great. He was too cold, his mind too sluggish, his determination too spent.

He crawled his way a few centimeters clear of shelter so he lay in the sunlight.

And then he allowed his eyes to fall shut.

_Don’t die_ , he pleaded sleepily with himself. _Think of what it would do to him. To think he killed you._

It was a powerful draw.

But Obi-Wan was just... too...

 

* * *

 

One second, Anakin lay dead.

The next, blue eyes stared up at the rough brown cloth covering him, and his mind sprang to life, picking up where it left off so many hours before.

Anakin threw off the cloak, found a ceiling of branches, the edges marred by lightsaber wounds.

Found Obi-Wan’s lightsaber lying on the ground.

His Master _never_ let his lightsaber out of sight, out of hand—

There.

Anakin skittered sideways out of the den, and braced on feet and a hand, inspected his Master.

Alive.

_Alive_.

Oh, thank the _Force_ thank the _night_ , thank Obi-Wan’s own cursed stubbornness.

Anakin knew how his Master felt about death. Knew how attractive it was for the older Jedi.

_He stays for me._

The knowledge brought a gentle smile to the vampire’s face.

He could hear how sluggishly the blood ran in Obi-Wan’s veins.

_He needs fluids. A lot of them._

Anakin stood, closed his eyes, and focused on his nose.

There.

He could smell it— a fountain.

Lightsaber out, he sped, faster than a human eye could trace, towards the source of the smell, marking his way as he moved just to make sure he could get back without anything slowing him down.

Keen though his nose might be, it still took him a bit to narrow down the precise location.

He refilled the water bottles, and in a moment was back at Obi-Wan’s side.

Raising his Master, he braced Obi-Wan’s back against one arm, his head against Anakin’s shoulder. “Wake up, Master,” he murmured, tracing his fingers down the living Jedi’s temple.

The way human brains worked looked different this side of undeath. He nudged with the Force, urging Obi-Wan’s attention.

Slowly, Obi-Wan resurfaced.

Just barely.

“Drink,” Anakin commanded, trickling water into Obi-Wan’s mouth.

The other obeyed without a hint of complaint.

His Master could only take so much, so he allowed him to sleep again for a time, and then gave him more.

_What are we going to do?_ he wondered.

It had been easy to promise Obi-Wan he would never feed off him again.

But if, by any trick of fate, they _weren't_ out of here before another week passed—

_This will happen again._

Anakin couldn’t guarantee escape. Not before seven days.

And killing a professional when they _did_ get out? That would be...

_Very_ bad.

He’d tried muscling his way through this.

It’d become painfully clear he _couldn't_.

It left him one option. An option that didn’t feel like an option.

Feeding lightly from Obi-Wan every night. Not much. But enough to keep the edge off. Enough to stave off what had happened yesternight.

Anakin suspected that no one who knew him would have anticipated that being undead would temper his overconfidence.

But they were wrong.

Had he still been alive, he would have sworn they _would_ get out before it was a problem again, walked his feet off, and refused to make a plan until it was too late.

But undead Anakin?

He knew some things just wouldn’t go your way. No matter how powerful you were. No matter how smart you thought yourself. No matter how determined, how _Chosen_ you might be.

Sometimes the worst happened.

Sometimes you couldn’t win against fate.

And if you weren’t going to win...

It was worth strategising how best to figure out how to salvage what you could out of the non-win.

It didn’t necessarily have to be a defeat.

It _could_ just be a draw.

Maybe even a draw with positive aspects.

But _only_ if you planned for it.

Only if you fought for it. It wouldn’t just happen in the wake of your stunning miscalculation.

He could easily go the night without feeding again. It sickened him, just how much he’d taken from Obi-Wan, and just how

_good_ he felt.

_But I really should have something tomorrow, if we want to make sure to only take a little at a time._

The longer he waited, the more he’d have to take.

_Two rotations to recover._

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t anything like Anakin would have hoped.

But maybe, after his Master had re-hydrated, he could convince him into a healing trance.

In the meantime...

_We have to get out of here._

There was no way Obi-Wan could walk.

But... if he was going to be unconscious anyway...

His ego certainly couldn’t be damaged by some _help_.

Anakin slung the water-bottles over his shoulder, wrapped Obi-Wan loosely in the robe, gathered his Master into his arms as though the other was a baby, and sped into the darkness.

He only set Obi-Wan down to tunnel his way through bushes, and he took those opportunities to administer more liquid.

In between breaks, Obi-Wan dozed in a state almost more unconscious than asleep.

Anakin could sense his body trying to heal, trying to leach more red blood cells from his bone marrow, _trying_ —

He sent a soothing wave towards Obi-Wan’s body in the Force.

A few months ago, the sensation would have been bizarre, disturbing. Now, Obi-Wan’s body knew to expect it. Knew how to interpret it.

Knew how to accept and use it.

Another gentle smile lit the vampire’s face.

Obi-Wan.

He’d only ever been supportive.

Had never once assumed Anakin wanted to be “fixed.”

Had never once assumed Anakin SHOULD be “fixed.”

Had only ever supported him, believed in him, hung in there through Anakin’s tumultuous first weeks. He’d been the bulwark Ahsoka couldn’t be.

Force, Anakin missed his Padawan.

Next mission? She was coming.

_You nearly killed your Master last night, and now you want to bring your Padawan?_

Her body mass was much smaller.

If he’d taken the same amount of blood from her that he’d stolen from Obi-Wan?

_She’d be dead._

Pain lanced through his still heart.

_But I’ve learned my lesson_ , he swore to himself. _No more waiting. If a professional isn’t nearby, I have to allow someone else to help. It’s the only way I can keep them safe._

And if there was one thing Anakin Skywalker was determined to do, it was keep his loved ones safe.

No matter how uncomfortable it might be.

He might have to get used to taking from Obi-Wan.

_If_ his Master could handle the idea after last night.

He wouldn’t at all be surprised if the older man reacted to the idea with post traumatic stress.

It would be _more_ crazy if he _didn’t_.

_He should refuse to let a fang come within a meter of his skin ever again._

They’d have to see.

_Could_ he drink from Ahsoka?

No.

No, _definitely_ not.

He was _responsible_ for her. He was the adult, taking care of that child. And yes, she might be a very mature sixteen, but she was _sixteen_.

And Rex and his men?

Force. Was that better?

Those boys were _twelve_. And even more dependent on him than Ahsoka.

No. He couldn’t be so predatory towards any of them.

What did that mean? Keeping Obi-Wan trapped at his side? His Master needed autonomy. Obi-Wan might not think so, but Anakin _knew_ it to be true.

The other option was keeping a professional with him at all times. On every mission.

_Not good._ Not _good._

This time, Anakin was very much aware of the approaching daylight.

He carved out their shelter, he tucked the cloak around Obi-Wan, gently stroked back the russet hair from Obi-Wan’s forehead. “Master.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes drifted open, and Anakin felt relief as he saw understanding in their depths. Finally. Genuine consciousness.

“Anakin. Did you get enough— is your mind—”

“My mind is safe,” Anakin assured him.

“How much time has passed? Do you need more?”

Oh, his Master. Always thinking of someone _other_ than himself. Anakin adored him for it. Also, worried about him because of it. “Not right now, Obi-Wan. Your blood is very rich. But I will need more later— if you’re willing.” He hated the hesitation in

his voice.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan soothed, obviously noticing it as well.

No signs of a panic attack. Or even discomfort. _Oh, you are so foolish, my Master..._

Of course, that foolishness had been all that stood between himself and suicide those first few terrible days.

Also the only reason he could still call himself a Jedi.

The only reason he was working towards being able to be near the people he loved without fearing for their lives.

But that required communication and honesty, the likes of which he had never lived with before. “I can’t go so long without again. I’ll need to have smaller amounts more frequently,” Anakin admitted. “But for that I need you recovered.”

Amusement lit Obi-Wan’s eyes as understanding dawned. “You’re trying to maneuver me into a healing trance. If you can convince me _you_ need me to, you know I will.”

“Absolutely,” Anakin murmured, lying down beside him. “Is it working?”

He could feel the sun’s approach.

Oh, how he _hated_ stars these days, and _loved_ deep space. No automatic shut-downs, no near-misses—

“You know the answer to that.” Obi-Wan’s eyelids drifted shut. “Trance it is.”

Obi-Wan missed Anakin’s fond smile, but not the gentle love that enveloped him in the Force, a protective shell against the future’s winds. The older Jedi’s face relaxed under its influence, it cheered his weary, stressed heart.

_I’m sorry_ , Anakin thought to the abused organ, working so hard to keep his Master alive. _I will be kinder next time. I promise._

The muscle beat on, faithful, tireless, unconscious of the cruelties inflicted on it or the apologies whispered to it.

_Beat, beat_ , Anakin’s mind murmured, listening to its pulsing.

The new lullaby of this unlife of his.

He felt Obi-Wan slip into a healing trance.

In his last seconds before biology’s forced shut-down, a tender, beautiful thought cheered his _own_ heart.

Perhaps this ordeal put him a few steps closer to the place where he could trust himself to be near Padmé again.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
